


makoto naegi's best worst day

by zuzuzukas_dream



Category: Dangan Ronpa, Danganronpa
Genre: Almost Sex, M/M, daddy kink in a way you might not expect, only touchy-feely stuff, theres nothing shifty or uncomfortable going on though (but that does depend on the beholder)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-20
Updated: 2016-03-20
Packaged: 2018-05-27 21:17:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6300757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zuzuzukas_dream/pseuds/zuzuzukas_dream
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>makoto and hajime were doing fine until they remembered that they're both awkward nerds and that they really cant do any of this fancy smutty stuff. at all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	makoto naegi's best worst day

**Author's Note:**

  * For [shirobs](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shirobs/gifts).



> YES HELLO PLEASE READ THIS, LEST YOU BECOME CONFUSED LATER ON.  
> uh. so ill just give you a quick summary of all youre gonna see in this fic. first of all, hajime is a trans boy. second of all, he is freckled and chub. third of all, togami is his dad for reasons i can only explain as being the snowball effect following a zelda: wind waker au. fourth, theres a little bit of toukomaru at the end.  
> i hate the majority of this fic because i cant do plot whatsoever, but i kinda thought it was written well, so i included all of it. hajime and naegi are in college, and are in the same year, so there are no underage issues. also, nagito komaeda is in this fic somewhere, and he is just as sneaky as always.  
> uh also im sorry if the paragraph spacing is weird i did it on notepad?? and none of the italics seem to have come through so sorry about that too

"Oh my God, stop," he whispers. At first soft, and bumping off of his lips and rumbling from his chest as he lets his body savour a few more moments of sweetness, and, Christ --  
Then, he says it again. Louder. Harsh and sharp - definitely sharp - sending Makoto into a statue state almost immediately. Almost, because first he has to unhook his fingers from a particular few strands of tightly wound hair, and almost, because his lips are a little swollen at the edges from how intensely he's been chewing at Hajime's. And his neck. And his, you know, entire upper torso.  
"Oh my god. Stop."  
They both do, eventually, once the few seconds of detangling and stumbling over limbs is done for good. They're still lacking breath, so another amount of time is spent getting that back so that talking can resume and that stop can be given a reason or whatever. Hopefully a good one. Because they were way further than they've ever been just now, and Makoto sure has a boner pressing against his boxers.  
It's those star ones. Blue and white and pastel all over. It almost makes him PG rated.  
Half of an idea has formed in his head as to why that had to end. It's that maybe Hajime isn't ready - which is hopefully optimistic, considering it's actually pretty likely that he was doing something wrong. Now, though, he's got himself fastened up into obedience, all eyes and ears and parted lips. The silk-skinned brunette in front of him, eyes ringed and winged in stars of a deeper brown, is in no different shape.  
Apart from the nails that're digging a little more than can be considered very deeply into his very soft back.  
"I--," Hajime begins, and then pauses for breath. Clearly hot under the, uh, currently nonexistent collar. The explanation comes out tumbling. "It's not you," he says. "Or - maybe it is, too. But, it's me."  
Makoto's instant reaction is relief. Then he tries to interrupt, because that settles in a little more and he realises Hajime absolutely did not do anything wrong, only to have words stumbling over his own.  
"I'm nervous. And, uh. And you know me. I wouldn't, you know, stop you if I had any doubts, but I mean -- my heart's beating real fast."  
Each word is a fraction of a heartbeat long, and quite a few syllables are lost on the way. Makoto tries, "Hajime."  
His boyfriend continues. "It's not your fault. But, haven't you, uh, never done this before either? I mean... This this. The this that almost was this." He figures it's futile. "Sex."  
The next time an attempt is made to interrupt, Makoto stammers, and his face fills with red.  
"Look," Hajime goes on. Persistence proven, then. "I know it's difficult for you to stop and all. And I guess, if you, you know, really want, I could -- or, maybe you could... I mean, you know. Something. Or whatever."  
"Hajime."  
"What!"  
On account of how loud that was, Makoto feels as though someone's going to catch them in the act, regardless of the fact that Hajime's dad is out tonight.  
Makoto faces the fact of having to speak words now that he has the attention he needed. Really, he only wanted Hajime to stop so that the freak out couldn't snowball and end up in crying or something. Because, that's not what he wants at all, and also because if he started crying, then Makoto might start crying. Which is awkward when you have a boner. And then everybody's in tears, and Friday night is ruined.  
No. This this doesn't matter. What they were going to do doesn't matter, because if you think about it, they weren't going to do it at all. They were just thinking about doing it. And, what the Hell is Makoto supposed to do with his hands anyway? It's not like it's on the school curriculum, and Googling it sure gives you an eyeful.  
Hajime is still staring. When he swallows, his throat feels incredibly dry. "Uh," he says. "It doesn't matter."  
"Wh-what a place to start..." Hajime begins, visibly sinking and then retreating a little, because pooling his weight into his boyfriend's semi hard crotch would be an uncomfortable idea.  
He's trying not to register that. Which is already difficult enough without boombox thighs that close to his gear.  
"Shhh," Makoto starts. His first two fingers find themselves at thick lips. "It really doesn't. You shouldn't worry yourself about it. It as in, the situation. Not--"  
"Oh my God," Hajime says. There sure are a lot of ways to say that phrase. "Please don't clarify that ever again."  
"Sorry, sorry." Nice start! "I mean, well. There's, uh, the bathroom, and,"  
"Mmmm."  
"A-anyway! It's fine and I don't mind and it doesn't change how I feel! Which... Which is the important stuff, right?"  
Hajime shifts just a little, and he has to adjust the weight on his palms. It becomes the elephant in the room for a moment. "Yeah," he says. "I know. But, you..."  
A hand shoves against Makoto's milky shoulder. Kind-of-shoulder. Between the shoulder and the armpit and the beginning of the breast tissue area. That trizonia. You know, the one that didn't need to be specified at all just now. Hajime's palm is soft, and so are his fingers, and so are his arms and legs and his back, and here we are getting off topic again. Basically, Hajime shoves him, and Makoto needs to chill.  
"You're sure?"  
He lets the moment linger. Chestnut locks ghost against the back of his neck as he nods. Thought about, confirmed, done with. "Yeah," comes the audible version. "I'm sure."  
He's also still sweaty. Even around his eyes felt wet earlier. So, maybe it's a good idea to get an agreement quickly in order for him to maybe shower and not smell like trash.  
The "okay" that Hajime says after another few moments of - you guessed it - silence sounds quite hesitant, but it's there, and he finally starts to make a move off of Makoto's legs. They were starting to fill with a dull pain, actually, now he's thinking about it. Not that his boyfriend is too heavy. It's just that limbs in general can be heavy, and his own twig legs weren't able to handle it.  
"Um--," Hajime begins. His eyes flicker to the door and Makoto knows what he'll say before he continues. "So, are you going to--"  
He interrupts, flushing. "Yep!" Saying the S word seems to have caused difficulty enough for them both already. Good idea.  
With that, he awkwardly drags himself to the edge of the bed and goes to speak again before fleeing the room. It's really weird to walk with a boner. You have this second nose between your legs, and everyone either tries to avoid it or pointedly stares. Hajime is the first type of person, thankfully.  
He isn't a prude. Even if he were, Makoto wouldn't use that term at all anyways due to the negative connotations. When other people say prude, they mean boring. Lacking excitement. Sadly, they tend see it as something pitiful as well as being the person's own fault. Patronising and superior, usually bound with the idea that being prude can be fixed.  
Makoto looks at himself in Mr. Togami's antique mirrors. God, are they huge.  
No, he definitely isn's a prude. Makoto is well aware that Hajime is the opposite of anything mundane. He's known that since before they exchanged names; when the trolley Hajime was being pushed inside rammed straight into his face.  
Hajime is just new to this whole romantic intimacy thing, and so is Makoto. It's also just that seeing trembling hands and having soft, cushioned limbs press against you in a quivering flush of embarrassment leaves Makoto with an effect that can't really be shaken off, whereas Hajime's private gear lets him leave without so much as a stain.  
Though, he seemed to be having to crush his thighs together just now.  
A lover of the finer things, Makoto's hand dips beneath the star spangled fabric of his underwear as he focuses in on the detail. The toilet seat greets his ass with a chill that amplifies the shudder in his spine, and he wonders what Hajime is doing, all wrapped up in those bedsheets; burdened with a heartbeat between his legs that he can't ignore.

It's only after college that they're able to speak properly again. Makoto accidentally falls back asleep in the morning, but Mr. Togami puts an end to that with a bout of uncomfortable words about how he isn't fully accepting of his son's boyfriend sleeping over.  
Said boyfriend thinks about how sleeping over is the best and that he really doesn't want to have to stop, because sometimes they'll talk for hours, and all the time, he gets to hold those soft palms and stubby fingers against his own.  
Hajime has a Physics exam in the afternoon that appears to go well, judging by the emoji combination he uses. It's rare for him to do so, but lo and behold, in response to Makoto's inquiry lies a face that appears to be huffing, and next to that is presumably this fellow's huge and incredibly muscular arm. He looks pretty proud, so Makoto guesses that's its meaning. Apart from that, though, they barely talk.  
He's wearing something typical of himself when Makoto meets up with him not too far from the college gates. Plain white dress shirt, belt buckled up high around his waist. It allows the perfect opportunity for the curvature of his hips. His collar splits off into lacy patterns at the edges. Makoto has always loved the sweetness of Hajime's neck, and here it is magnified and divine. There's something delicate about the way the sleeves bunch around the cuffs, and with a pair of simplistic black trousers, his messenger bag slung over one shoulder, he manages to look as though he's Heaven-sent.  
Makoto contrasts sharply in his baggy, black hoodie and ripped jeans. It goes down to his thighs and leaves only his fingers free on the arms.  
"Hey, babe," Hajime greets now. The babe is ironic, and is greeted with a soft laugh and a dainty kiss. One on the lips, and then another on the cheek. The sweetheart giggles in response.  
"Hello," Makoto says, and picks a cute nickname from the air. "How's my honey bee?"  
Hajime tuts and huffs and leads him in a walk beneath the ivy arch that hides them. "I'm good," he says. "Tired, but good, I guess. Managed to cut down my history essay enough with Ishimaru -- thank God." Ah! The essay. History: yet another hard subject on Hajime's list.  
Makoto feels blessed that he chose to follow the route of art. Coursework is actually fairly simple if you're open to try out different forms of media. Hajime, on the other hand, has to condense a causation essay of three wars, linking them and all, into about 4,000 words. Yikes.  
That's probably a hint at why he's been so stressed.  
He looks sparkling here, now he's able to relax, with the pale light in leaf spots along his face and neck and shoulder, and then with the rest of him dyed in a deep green shadow. Like in Makoto's animes. The colours in his eyes have their depth revealed in the golden glow, tinted lime and glistening, and Makoto feels like those long lashes looping his circuits and tightening his chest. Hajime is a dream.  
And, Jesus Christ, would he be damned if he didn't steal another few kisses.  
"Well," Hajime laughs, pulling a few steps to the side and then falling back beside him with rosy cheeks and high set cheekbones. "That tells me how you are, I guess."  
"Mhm," Makoto replies. "Smitten like a kitten."  
They're approaching the bus stop now. It's not too long of a walk. "Like a kitten?" Hajime pries, an eyebrow heading North. "You're practically a ball of fluff regardless of whether or not you're smitten."  
"N'aww. You find me cute." Makoto's lips curve into a smirk of a smile. "Now we match."  
"My teeth are rotting," Hajime states dramatically. He's blatantly avoiding Makoto's eyes, so he's definitely smiling. It's adorable. "Besides, don't most people want to be -- I don't know, sexy or hot rather than cute? Right now, I just want to squish your cheeks."  
Makoto grins into his laugh and leans forward into where Hajime is now sat. "Squish my cheeks, then. You know I wouldn't mind."  
At this point, Hajime just shakes his head. Makoto takes the opportunity to continue, despite wondering if he really should. "And," he says, "you seem to find me all three of those. I mean, you wanted to do more than squish my cheeks yesterday."  
"J-Jesus Christ, Makoto!" Hajime steadily becomes ridden with a blush. Now he really isn't looking at him. His posture tenses into something a little more hunched, and his neck vanishes into the folds of that beautiful collar. "You fucking--. You fucking sneak."  
Makoto feels the wrath of being plodded by a smooth hand. He's sorry to say something so embarrassing, but the reaction is a good one, and he hopes the humour doesn't bring back any feelings from last night. Bad ones, that is. A grin plays on his lips, and there's a spark to his countenance that can't be feigned. Hajime's nervous laugh surely is one to behold, for its adorable nature always has him feeling warm and loose and ready to tumble into his arms.  
But, hey, the bus is here. He barely notices it until Hajime's head follows its direction and until it huffs to a halt. Same one as almost-always, considering Mr. Togami is almost-always out on business. A busy man with a busy son, it seems; a drive for intelligence can apparently be inherited. In fact, their plan for tonight is to study, Makoto recalls. He hopes Hajime's also hoping for a little more.  
That said, they definitely need to study. School comes before the other S word they've become recently acquainted with.  
So, as they board the bus and squeeze past old ladies and school kids, he sighs and lets a handful of unnecessary weight fall from his shoulders. Sometimes you need to not care.

They're quiet and nonchalant the whole time, really. Casual conversation, without much of a drive due to Hajime's travel sickness. Makoto takes the window seat and lets him duck his head, but if he sees anything worth making a joke about, he leans in and half-whispers it into Hajime's hair.  
When they're home, nobody else is. Makoto's parents are still at work, and he's able to guess that Komaru is heroically pursuing her own tangled love story over at kung fu. Said love story involves Touko, a mutual friend of theirs and a girl who is adamant to write novels until she has the twitches all down her arms. No - she doesn't take part in kung fu. But, she's started a habit of watching, and although Komaru is tough enough to get into the zone whilst she kicks and flips and KOs, Makoto is often greeted post-club with an earful of giddy giggles. She swings around the bannister and holds her bag against her chest when she gets home.  
Makoto is kind of like that, though. He can't complain.  
The house to themselves, Makoto and Hajime stake claim on the living room's cosy territory.

To cut a long story short, studying doesn't happen.  
His hands bundle up layers of Hajime's shirt before manoeuvring it above his head. Where it lands isn't really noticed at all, because Makoto has his eyes on the rigid tops of wide hips and the fine lines of collarbones, and then into Hajime's own stare as they inhale the moment.  
The shudder of his boyfriend's breathing is something incredibly fascinating to Makoto. You don't hear this in videos online. Not in this way. You don't see the quiver of lips and shoulders, and the goose bumps that say he's cold, and the flush that says he's warming up. Eyes all lashes and lids and dark shapes, Hajime swallows, and Makoto feels the slick texture of his palms for the first time.  
His hands are moving before he finishes the thought to remove his own hoodie, as well as the sunset tee beneath. Crumpled, they join Hajime's shirt elsewhere, and then he's on the receiving end of a sweat-ridden stare that sends his temperature soaring. Stubby fingers find themselves on Makoto's chest, on his ribs, and it's blatant that Hajime doesn't exactly know if he's sure of what he's doing.  
When Makoto summons his voice, his throat feels dry. "You--." He pauses. Hajime's already startled, the look in his eyes betraying the obvious leap of his heart. "You know, um. What we talked about last night..."  
As he breathes, Hajime's hands follow the movement. It's nauseating for sure, but he doesn't know the worst of it yet.  
"Um," Hajime says. He stops there, like that's it.  
"Um?" Makoto somewhat mimics.  
"Um," Hajime repeats. A little forcefully. The blush upon his cheeks now reaches his ears and the parts of his chest that're open to the air. Makoto notes the way the shadow beneath his binder straps highlights his collarbone on the right side.  
Then he really starts talking, although reluctantly. "I mean," he says, head dipping down to bring them closer, "I just... I don't. I'm not as... you know."  
Makoto actually does know this time. He fills the gap with nervous. Anxious. Hesitant.  
"So, what you're saying is," he murmurs, "you're... okay?"  
It's odd. Yesterday, they were in the thick of it. Right in the heat, all tongue-tied and free hands, all careless gasps and moans. And yet it's now that he...  
"For-- for fuck's sake. Why do you have to make me say it?" Hajime groans, the words sounding somewhat off in the way they come from him. There's no malice in them. They have a kind of stammer that can be compared to lag, really. His head comes to Makoto's shoulder, and the slight ghost of curls against his skin sends his nerves into a frozen frenzy. He physically rattles with the stimulation.  
Hajime doesn't need to say it. It's sort of the elephant in the room. Unknown kinks be damned, Makoto's going to sit there and force something from his boyfriend's lips when it's much safer to allow him the approach. Instead he places his hands on his back and leans in.  
The heat between his legs only magnifies when Hajime's hands come to his shoulder blades and they slide into a puzzle piece fit, skin on skin and fabric; jeans on jeans.  
He tilts his head in the direction of Hajime's. Expression somewhat lacking, he takes instinct by the hand and trails his fingers down the soft peaks of a disappearing spine, and then back up towards his hunched shoulders. Gentle and endearing, which isn't precisely the mood Makoto is aiming for, but is the only way he knows. Regardless, Hajime's body rises to meet him, pressing thick lips further into his neckline.  
He says, "Talk to me," like he's been debating how to say it.  
Makoto can't help but laugh a little. "About what?" he asks. "That's kind of a big change of mood."  
"It-- it doesn't have to be," comes the hushed reply. "I mean 'talk to me' like... What do you want to do?"  
It comes out before he can pause. He gets where this is going. "To you?"  
"To-- yeah." A laugh follows, then cuts short.  
He's silent again, and Makoto supposes this is his cue. It's not like he has anything special to offer on the talking front, and dirty talk in particular hasn't ever had a chance to become his forte. Though, thinking about precisely what he'd like to do isn't difficult, per se.  
He deliberates before just getting on with it. Something is better than nothing.  
"I mean, I like this. H-holding you. Being close to you without having to wear stuff." His cheeks are filling up with pink again. Starting off soft is both easier and harder than he thought.  
"Nude hugs?"  
"N... Nude hugs," he confirms. Mutual silence. "And... When you sound all flustered, and your lips are all swollen from kissing. That's good." A few cracks are evident in his voice, and he focuses on the wall to keep his head straight. Hajime lifts his hips and drops himself closer to Makoto still. It makes his next line wobble quite a bit. "I-I guess I'd really just like to make you happy."  
He could be doing worse, but the skittish avoidance of using words like pleasure and phrases like I just want to have you come to my name reserves any extraordinarily horny reactions. In fact, Hajime even laughs a little. He's quiet now, though. A little more absent, and with his hands at the base of Makoto's bare back. His own hands follow suit, and Hajime's body curves a little, yet again.  
Should he be doing more with this? It feels like he should be doing more with this.  
Biting down on his cheek, he battles against a minor wave of fear and rests the tips of uneasy fingers on Hajime's boxer lining. "I-I mean... There's a lot I think about."  
"Like what?"  
The answer is stunning for a moment only. Something blossoms in his chest. "Like you... Above me. Like this, or sometimes with your back against me. We're closer than close, I-I guess, and... you let me have you. Just how I want you."  
That seems to be getting to where Hajime wants it. He audibly exhales a little too sharply, neck craning to hide his face against Makoto's jaw. Flat palms are now against his back.  
"How do you want me?" Another question. Shy with short syllables. Another prompt to fill.  
Makoto's head is amiss. Staring at the wall failed him, and now all he sees is Hajime's back and neck and hair, and his legs open, and his feet bare. The whole house is quiet, but it's all so incredibly loud.  
"If... If we're talking literally," he murmurs. This time, he's matching the tone that his boyfriend sets. Soft and deep as his palms trace around and lay open against Hajime's thighs. Just close enough to the crotch of his jeans to make him squirm. He swallows before he speaks again, because he still isn't sure if he can say this.  
"I'd like you in the palm of my hand."  
There's a bitten curse that Makoto doesn't quite catch, but Hajime follows it up with a far more lustrous sigh of, "Makoto," and presses teeth against his neck. Lips, too. Kisses and nips, all moans and trapped air.  
"I just... want to feel you," he continues. It's true. And, wow, is is stomach getting bursts of butterflies from every lick, every bite. It spurs him on and has his hands pressing deeper into Hajime's legs. "All of you. Every... single piece, I-- I want you."  
Emphasis on the last sentence comes in the form of a deep sigh and a momentarily regrettable grind of his hips. Momentarily, because Hajime latches onto the movement and begins to set their rhythm. Like last night, but less like a fire and more like a flood.  
"Jesus Christ," Hajime hisses. "Are you... Are you just gonna talk about it?" His want is too strong to hold back the jitter of his vocal chords. Abruptly, his wet palms are on the backs of his boyfriend's, and now he rises, square and in full view, as flushed as expected and more beautiful than Makoto remembers.  
"No," tumbles from Makoto's lips. "No, I-I wanna... I mean, if you'd like--"  
Hajime brings their lips together in a sloppy, heated collision, with his nostrils flaring and his eyes tightly shut. He's so warm and so soft, and every nerve that was tightening and shivering is now doing so under the heightened pulse of his furnace heart. One hand finds Hajime's chin, and when he begins to pull away Makoto kisses him again; follows him back with vigour. Holds him closer than close.  
His boyfriend's hands find his high waisted belt buckle, and clinks and scratches of leather it's obvious that the whole thing has been discarded in seconds. They're a symphony of suggestive noises, the wet slips of lips and tongues on tongues and teeth mixing with Hajime shuffling out of his jeans.  
He can only get them so far. "M'koto," he whispers. Prominent and hot. "Makoto-- I need to--." And then, "Move."  
The room spins for Makoto as he follows the instruction and restrains himself from covering swollen lips with more kisses. They're full, now, like he'd mentioned earlier; the edges are lined with that dusty rose shade, and he's got the cheeks to match. He notes that the boy has to lick over them to stop himself drooling, and he can't help but ache to join in.  
Once Hajime drops his jeans with a clink of the zip, he returns to straddling Makoto, his chunky thighs all on show. Said boyfriend isn't the only one looking; Hajime's eyes flicker down and he swallows like he's got something stuck in his throat. Makoto's hands settle at first against them, halfway down, and then return to their earlier place.  
Hajime's thighs are soft. Unshaven for a few weeks, but perhaps that makes them softer, even. With muscle and chub bunched up, especially like this, they're like pillows he wouldn't mind being smothered with.  
He catches the breath Hajime takes with his lips, their foreheads bumping momentarily before he captures him like that. All five senses full of him. His head swimming with him.  
"Hajime," Makoto murmurs once he has the chance, his eyes flickering up into spherical shapes intwining; gold, lime, copper. "Hajime -- I... really want you."  
Words trickle down his spine in reply. "I want you too," Hajime says, the curving movement of his body felt beneath the skin of his thighs as he sits up further. Makoto's fingers take the hem of thick boxers between them, and his lips take Hajime's neck like fine rain, buttering him up in kisses and shivers and pulling from him a string of quiet gasps. "I want you too," he repeats, possibly because he's graceful and shy and awkward and handsome, and he's too coiled up in feelings to say much else.  
It's nice to hear him like that. To fuel that fire in his lungs. Makoto's ears are burning as he whispers to him, quick and light. "You're gorgeous," he says. "So... So gorgeous." Hajime's boxers are baggy, Makoto notes, and the elastic spreads far with spread legs. "I can't believe you're letting me-- do this to you."  
Hajime's bitten lips and half-lidded eyes and sweating cheeks vanish into his shoulder once more as Makoto trails his fingers through fine stubble between his legs. His advance is tantalisingly slow, sending rivers of shudders through Hajime's body that can be felt in the rippling of his thighs.  
"Hajime," he begins, dropping kisses around his ear between words, in tousled hair. "Do you like this?"  
The answer is delayed. Naegi's free hand ghosts nails across the base of his boyfriend's back as he works up the breath to moan a, "Yeah," clouded by hot air. His heartbeat quickens as his bare stomach becomes a playground for spirals and light finger prints, and he's just barely brave enough to trail his index finger down against the connection between thigh and... elsewhere. This clearly sets Hajime's nerve endings on fire, because his back arches and he just about begs Makoto to go further with the way he holds his back. Curls into him.  
But, Makoto just has to say it.  
He tilts his head like he has something wonderful to add to the equation. Eyelids half closed, tongue wetting his lips more often than necessary and lungs bursting with lukewarm air, cheeks red and ears to match, he says, "Moan for daddy," his voice husky like in an idealistic romance movie.  
It takes Hajime a moment to react, and when he comes to, he certainly doesn't moan for daddy. He doesn't moan for anyone, and instead stiffens and pulls back like he's going to be sick. A hand clasps around his arm - the one of which has its end within Hajime's underwear - and he looks Makoto square in the eye.  
Are those... tears? Oh, Jesus.  
"That-- no, I'm sorry," he says. He stammers, speech full of hedges and false starts. "It's just -- um -- I just. You... just."  
Makoto's heart is in his throat, and his boner feels the familiar sense of not having its destiny fulfilled once again. He knows he's fucked up, and so does his body, because he falls into an incredibly tense state that sends his head reeling. Mere moments ago, he was all feelings and fingers. Now he's just Makoto, and he tried to get Hajime to call him daddy.  
"Please, just--" Meanwhile, Hajime is still going. "No, I'm sorry, I just found that... really gross. Like -- I just got this huge ass vision of my dad, and. And, that's just. I mean." He sucks in his lip, shaking all over for another reason entirely now. His eyes squeeze shut. "Makoto. Your hand. Please."  
For a moment he's redundant and reluctant. Then he snatches his arm away as though he's been bitten, and as air resistance does its thing on his fingers, he feels the remnants of something wet along the tips of one or two. Speech was a mistake.  
Both of Hajime's hands are on his shoulders, and his posture is that of a hero who just found out he's the villain of a series or something. Eyes still closed. Lips tight. Breath moving his whole body each time.  
"I-I'm..." Makoto starts. "I'm sorry. I didn't think, I mean..."  
"It's not your fault," interrupts Hajime. "It's just. Can I just."  
Makoto's head tilts back a little as he waits for Hajime to grasp the sentence. "I need to sit to the side or something. Th-that's, um. The mood."  
The shorter boy offers, "It's ruined?" It comes across as disappointed, so he coughs. "I mean. That'd be fine, though. I get that."  
At first, because they're awkward teens with awkward teen feelings, Hajime hesitates and goes to say something. Then he thinks against it, probably because he really wants to get off the boner coaster when he has a thought that may contain his father's ballsack in his head.  
When Makoto registers that idea, the pity floods through him. The hairy ballsack of an old man is not joyous at all.  
Now, though, his boyfriend's back greets him. Distant and hunched over, and then surrounded by a blue-white glow as Hajime turns on his phone from discarded jeans. Silence settles, save for tapping and that schhrrch kind of noise that fabric and skin make when they rub against themselves and each other. They don't look at one another.  
Well, that was dumb. Makoto's well aware that it's probably not his fault, because he's inexperienced and he can name at least five people that have said or implied the goodness of calling a sexual partner "daddy". Four of those names did come from Nagito -- but, he has no reason to sabotage a relationship, surely. He's going fairly steady in holding hands with his own singlehood, and hasn't even shown signs of wanting to date.  
Right? No -- it must be Makoto that's just gotten the wrong kind of person for that. Why dive in with "daddy", anyways? He wonders what's wrong with him. He wonders if he and Hajime will ever actually get it on.  
Not that he'd... particularly mind it if they didn't. They don't have to. But, it's this constant area of grey and raising his boner just to let it fall floppy in his own hands is getting him down. That came out weird.  
Another thing that's weird is the thud he hears in the hallway. Abrupt, and startling him enough to make him almost forget what kind of noise he actually heard in the first place. But, Hajime's up too, and he's grabbing his shirt and jeans within seconds as though they're balls deep into a forbidden love affair.  
"What the fuck was that?" his boyfriend whisper-yells, the ferocity of it lying in the wide movement of his lips. His eyebrows are furrowed.  
"I-I don't know," comes Makoto's reply. Softer. "J-just... Hide there a second." His hand points awkwardly to the sofa.  
Hajime gives him a judgy look that he reads to be something like, do you hide from people often? It's as though they've already assumed it was a knock on the door.  
It probably was. But--  
A snuffle, and then a calamity of thundering and lighter, bouncier sounds as coat hangers, coats, shoes and whatever else is in the entrance seems to be disturbed altogether. The storm of it all lasts a second or so longer than is needed for Makoto to grasp the situation, and the thought of his sister crosses his mind. He's up the next moment, stood in tight jeans and no shirt. Please, God, don't make him do the awkward boner walk.  
He's already about to move some more when a feminine sort of voice lets out a gasp that's like pain. And, then he's really moving, because the thought of Komaru having returned and hurt herself crosses his mind. What time is it, anyway? How carried away did he and Hajime get?  
The second lifetime regret occurs once he's in the hallway. There he is, turning the light on once he's scrambled for it in the black as pitch abyss of the corridor, when he has it wrong once again. There, in the pile of coat hangers and coats and shoes and whatever else, is Komaru and somebody else. A girl, actually. They're sort of on top of one another, and a giggle is bitten off as their heads turn to him.  
Him, with a tent and no shirt, and hair that probably completes the look of, "I have just been trying to have sex." Had he been any less clothed, he might have been able to achieve the look of, "I've just had sex," but he doubts his ego would need that.  
Komaru's the first to fully react, save for the horror that fills her friend -- girlfriend? -- 's face. She rears up her head and drags herself up, glasses skew-whiff, a bellowing, screeching laughter tearing from her. High pitched and hysteric, filled with notes that drop Makoto's stomach further and further. Hajime, now hopping into his jeans almost completely - the shirt was pulled on first - joins him in the corridor.  
Ah. It's Touko. Makoto can tell once she pulls herself up a little, but her unstable mound of all that she's fallen upon collapses further, and she lets out a squeak as she tumbles further into the void. She's wearing a really nice outfit, actually. Long skirt, heavy cardigan. The shoulder is pulled halfway down. Her cheeks are dusty rose.  
"Oh my God!" Komaru bursts out, and her laughter is still going. She stumbles back and then steps forward, not breaking eye contact with Makoto as she offers Touko a hand. "Were you -- were you really--. Oh, I'm so-- I, no, we are so, so sorry." The laughter makes it unconvincing.  
Touko squeezes her eyes shut. Makoto's already unconsciously begun to hold his arms in front of himself, like he has a body to hide, so he gets it. "J-j-j-- jeez! Jeez, yo-you absolute-- perverts! Doing that when you know your sister's going to be home?!"  
She makes a good point and he actually feels a bit gross, until Hajime's eyebrows curve in and he goes to interject, making Makoto rethink that sentence.  
"But," Hajime starts, "weren't you guys doing that too--?"  
On her feet, now, she dusts herself down, still jittery with a flush. "I-I can't... I can't believe you two wo-would just waltz in here in-- in that state. G-gross." Well, maybe getting to her will be harder than that. She stammers all through her words, far more than usual. It's a surprise to her when she sees the state of her cardigan and she pulls the neckline up again, all the while stepping back and growing closer to Komaru. Komaru, who is still grinning, still hiccupping through her last giggles and wiping her eyes.  
"So," she announces, eyes sparkling behind thick-rimmed glasses. Her arm quickly finds Touko's slim waist. A squeak is the response. "Why were you guys saving that for the sofa? And not your room?"  
Makoto's turn is upon him. "U-uh--. Uh, well, we-- we didn't..."  
"We got carried away," Hajime interrupts. "He didn't really think about it. I-I probably should have, too, but we just kinda. You know." He follows that with a glance at him. Comforting, but one of those looks that's more intense than a look. Oh, right. That was probably a reference to lifetime regret number one.  
"At least you're responsible," she says, one eyebrow raised and a smirk on her lips. Upon closer inspection, she has a smudge on her lipstick that carries towards the side of her jaw. "Makoto probably didn't care."  
"O-of course I did!" he protests. "You just--"  
"Yadda yadda yadda." She grins as she passes him, fingers sliding down Touko's arm and into her stiff palm. The girl's still a deep red and her hair's relatively mangled at the back. "I've caught big bro before today doing that kind of stuff. Probably why I'm put off for life."  
Her playful grin is aimed at Touko, who appears to be suffering a bad case of secondhand embarrassment and will now point blank refuse to look at Makoto or Hajime as she's led off into the living room. Makoto's face, on the other hand, is consumed with horror and mild betrayal.  
Hajime looks at him. "Is... that true?"  
"I-I have a hard time!" Makoto squawks. His embarrassment surely is at its peak now, right? "She... doesn't knock when she comes into my room, and she always wants to borrow my stuff, so the chances are--"  
"I've just realised how thankful I am that I only have Izuru," Hajime says.   
Thankfully, he's blessing Makoto with a break from Hell. "He's always out. No room to catch me with my pants down."  
He then adds, after a thoughtful pause, "Not that I'd do any of that with dad around anyways." To which Makoto cringes quite a bit, actually. Back to Hell it is, then.  
When they eventually return to the sinning room, Touko and Komaru are sat all cutesy at the breakfast bar. They have their hands clasped together under the table rather blatantly, but a sharp and nervous glance from Touko means that they're torn apart almost immediately. Makoto wonders if he should make it obvious that he predicted this and that it's genuinely fine with them, but he'd probably scare Touko off.  
Hajime strides past him, possibly allowed to be this confident because he isn't the accused here. He offers the girls some tea whilst Makoto sits back down on the sofa, his back pressed into its welcoming cushion comfort. It's better when he's allowed to spend a few moments alone.  
It's then that he realises he's sat on Hajime's phone, because he sinks into something harder than cushion. It makes a noise, and when he sits up and sees the holy light brightening his ass, it occurs to him that "Calling Dad" is probably not what he, nor Hajime, nor his dad would actually want. He tries to cancel the call.  
"Would you like something?" said boyfriend calls from the kitchen. "I'm making Touko some tea, but if you'd like coffee or whatever..." He trails off, then turns around, waiting for an answer.  
Makoto answers intelligently. "Uh."  
"Are you on my phone?" Hajime then asks, squinting and looking weirded out, and then looking a little offended.  
"I butt-dialled your dad. I think. Yeah," replies Makoto. His expression is sheepish. "And I ended the call, but--"  
Hajime is already walking over. Uh-oh.  
He takes the phone from Makoto, seeming spooked. "Shit," he says. "Shit, shit, shit-- I'm calling him back." He doesn't go on to explain why, so Makoto looks on, helpless, eyes like that of a puppy.  
Mr. Togami's voice is quiet and insignificant here, where his physical presence isn't. Hajime, though, as many kids with spooky parents can understand, is still pretty nervy. He keeps sending Makoto looks and saying things like, "Sorry," "Nothing's happened," and "No, I'm not with Nagito."  
But, things start to get progressively more tense, and Hajime's anxious smile stretches shakily as he lays it on thick. "We're fine," he says. "We're just having some tea with his sister, is all, and-- no, dad. Seriously. You don't need to--. Dad."  
Makoto senses it. The doom. Maybe butt-dialling is lifetime regret number three.  
And as Hajime pulls the phone from his ear and stares at it, his eyes are wide. His nostrils flare and he blinks a few times, lips pressed into thinner lines.  
"Dad's coming to pick me up. He thinks we've been at it."  
From the kitchen comes Touko's response, "A-and-- you have. I'm sure your-- your father is a very respectable man."  
Makoto is about to ignore her entirely, but it's not in his nature and instead he turns to give her an almost pleading look. Her head snaps away and she's facing Komaru again.  
Butt-dialling is lifetime regret number three. It starts with daddy and ends with dad. The circle is complete.  
Hajime flops back against the sofa with a heavy sigh. When Makoto continues to anxiously sit there, twiddling his thumbs, he's pulled into a needy hug.  
"Don't even touch the subject of dads around him," Hajime begs. When his boyfriend laughs he nudges him, huffing. "I'm serious. If you mention the... daddy thing around him, then if I don't dump you myself, dad will probably banish you from ever seeing me ever again."  
Makoto nuzzles into his neck. "Mhm," he grunts. "I don't want that."  
"Damn right," mumbles Hajime. "Who would you have to call you daddy if you weren't with me?"  
"He didn't," comes Komaru's voice, close and thickly laced with shock. When Makoto turns to her, startled and bright-eyed, she's grinning at them like a pirate to treasure. Like someone who's planning on telling a secret. "Oh my God."  
Makoto sits himself up, swivelling quickly to face her. "That's-- that's not what happened," he says. "That was a joke--"  
"That's why you didn't finish!" she squeaks. "Jeez, Makoto. I can't believe I'm better at being sexy than you are. You'd think you had more experience." The grin is widening.  
"Yet again, doesn't that mean you and Touko have--" Hajime starts. Makoto accidentally cuts him off, crawling toward his sister on the sofa.  
He whines. "I didn't! Komaru, please--"  
"Wh-what did he do?" Touko asks, coming close to the room.  
"Asked Hajime to call him daddy, I think."  
"Komaru--"  
"He didn't ask me specifically. Kinda told me."  
"Hajime!!"  
"I-I-I knew it. Th-they're just a bunch of perverts. Especially you, M-Makoto."  
"I'm not!"  
The door knocks.  
Everyone soft of freezes, save for Komaru, who still seems interested in getting the scoop. Then there's more knocking, and Makoto catches Hajime give a look of imminent agony as he stands up and scrambles to the door.  
Komaru's lips purse, and Touko looks thoroughly uncomfortable. Makoto swallows thickly.

The evening ends with Komaru bringing up the daddy incident to Hajime's real father, and Makoto has never seen somebody so horrified. Butt-dialling was definitely lifetime regret number three.

**Author's Note:**

> this was a gift for my good friend pax who introduced me to hinaegi. now yall have read this i encourage u to ship this ship far away and join us on our quest to make this not a rarepair. or u can just go on with ur life. im sorry


End file.
